A Buttercup for Prim
by GoldStarMockingjay
Summary: A one- shot about Katniss and Prim finding Buttercup. Under the surface though, this is a story about Prim's realization that their mother will never be the same because of their father's death- something that Katniss has been trying to keep from her. How will they deal with their feelings and elarn to move on without their mom? Rated K plus for general themes relating to HG


**Author's note: There may be some variations to the story as it is told in the book. Takes place after the mining accident, pre- The Hunger Games book One. At this point Katniss is starting to hunt and has already been given the bread from Peeta and met Gale (although neither is significant in this fanfic). None of the descriptions of healing plants are real. Please don't find random leaves to treat your illnesses based on my identifications, haha! Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: Everything Hunger Games related belongs to Suzanne Collins. *insert witty comment about boring old me versus the brilliant Suzanne Collins*

"Mew!"  
"Did you hear that, Katniss?"  
"Hear what?"  
"Mew! MEW!"  
Then I hear it. A kitten. Prim's face lights up, "Here kitty, kitty..." she calls, making kissing sounds and crouching down. The kitten is crying desperately, but remains out of our line of vision. "Prim, we have to get home. We've got to bring this soup to Mom." Our mother is not well. Since our dad died she's done nothing but lay in bed. She doesn't even cry anymore, just stares at the wall. I know watery broth will not cure this ailment, but I keep up the facade for my sister's sake. She's frantic now, trying to sift through the rubble and coal dust for it."Oh, but Katniss what if it's lost its mother? We have to find him!" Her blue eyes look at me pleadingly. "Come on," I say gently leading her away, "The kitten will be okay. He's probably got a good home."  
"MEEEWWW!" the kitten screeches. "See? He's saying 'yes, Prim! I'm going to go see my mother now!'" "But Katniss-" she says in desperation. I take her hand and steady the soup, walking the rest of the way home trying to comfort her.

Later that night I return home from the field with a full game bag. It's my first real day of hunting success since I started. The sky is starting to darken and I know my mother is still curled under her blankets. "Prim?" I call out and crane my head around the walls to find her. "Prim?" louder now, I feel my heart quicken. Panic chokes me and I run through the house yelling "Prim this isn't funny! Please!" My mother surely hears me, but doesn't seem to stir. I fling open the door and run outside, "Prim!" I hear no answer. I've checked the entire town and asked everyone if they've seen her. No one has. Tears roll quietly down my cheeks. Prim is the one thing I can't stand to lose. It's starting to get cold out, and my only plan of action left is to sink to my knees.  
"Mew!" My head picks up and stares in the direction of the sound. Cats are unremarkable to me and all seem the same, but I swear I recognize the shrieks. "Katniss, look!"  
"Prim?!" She's standing in front of me cradling a furry orange ball. She'd gone back for the kitten. I wrap her in a huge hug, "Oh Prim! Don't do that again I was terrified!"  
"I couldn't leave him! He's not well," her golden hair has fallen from her ribbons in great frizzy clumps and her gray dress is torn and dirty. I can't help but laugh at her disheveled appearance. "Well," I sigh, "let's see him then." She holds him out to me and I realize that I don't want this new mouth to feed. Especially since he does appear sickly. His fur is matted and greasy, his belly is full with worms (and not a crumb of food, I suspect) and he's weak. The thick layer of grime makes it difficult to truly assess his condition. "I don't know... He's really malnourished," I scruff him and hold him at arm's length into the house. It's late so we make a nest box for him to sleep in with scraps from Prim's torn dress. The metal bucket in the corner gives me an idea...

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I wait until morning to send Prim to town for supplies. "To heal him," I claim. She'll be gone a long time; I've made sure of that. She takes my game bag with her to carry everything. When I'm sure she's on her way I fill the bucket with water and kneel on the floor next to it. A plan has formulated in my mind to drown the little beast. I'll say he died while I was trying to bathe him. I grab him from the box by the scruff and peer into his eyes for a moment. He's ugly, but my heart feels heavy at what I'm about to do. "I'm sorry," I whisper, dropping him in the bucket. He struggles and water splashes on the floor.  
"What are you doing?" The voice startles me and I lose my grip on the kitten. He jumps out of the water and sits in the nest box sulking.  
I turn my head and am met with my mother's eyes, "Prim found a kitten..." I reply, as if this is all the explanation needed. There's a long pause as we both stare at each other. "You can't kill it," she states matter of factly. Her words surprise me. The cat is licking his paws and rubbing himself dry. She's right, it would break Prim's heart. "I can't feed all of us and a cat," I say coldly, "I can barely get enough food for Prim." There's no use pretending I care about anyone but my little sister. My mother's feelings have been hurt and she retreats back to her blanket cocoon.

Seconds later Prim's standing in the door with the game bag and I know I'm too late disposing of our new house guest today. "You couldn't have gotten everything on the list that fast..." My words falter, but I'm a skilled liar. "Oh, I just didn't want to leave him! He's frightened and exhausted. Can't I please stay and comfort him while you go get-" Prim notices the wet tabby puffball and instantly crouches to it. "Why are you wet, little one?" She croons to the sopping wet pile of skin and bones. He looks over at me and hisses a tiny hiss. "I gave him a bath," I motion to the bucket. "Not like that!" She picks up an old shirt and gently gives the kitten a sponge bath. Under the filth and coal dust large, oozing pustules surface and a bloody scab covers the corner of his torn ear. This will only make things harder now that an attachment is forming between kitten and child. My eyes refocus on the bucket. "Uh, Prim... We need scrap meat from Greasy Sae to feed him. I think you ought to go back-" I stop, feeling a hand on my shoulder. My mother. "No Katniss." She knows what I'm trying to do and I'm momentarily furious at her for stopping it. "We can't keep it!" I say firmly, "What will he eat? We can't afford medicine to heal him. He's near death!" Prim begins to cry, snuggling him close to her, "You can't kick Buttercup out of the family!" she wails. "Buttercup?" I spit out. "Yes, he reminds me of sunny yellow buttercups," her reply is pitiful and wet through sobs. "We can heal him. He can eat entrails from your game and I'm sure he'll learn to catch mice," my mother pulls a book of medicinal plants off the shelf. Determination and life is glowing in her eyes and it's hard to say no to this plan if it draws her from her depression. Prim dries her tears and kisses Buttercup on the nose, "You're an Everdeen now," she says in a sing song voice. "Go on little duck. Best get to work fixing him." We share a tight hug and she whispers in my ear, "Thank you."

The task of plant gathering in the woods falls on my shoulders. As I leave the house Mother and Prim are huddled over the book and boiling scraps of cotton to sterilize for wound cleaning. "How did this happen?" I moan despairingly to myself. I reach the woods in decent time and begin gathering: a sharp teardrop shaped leaf for drawing out infection, a brilliant blue flower cluster to stimulate appetite, a root that aids in helping new skin form and heal wounds, a long tufted herb that relieves itching and pain. Just before dusk I've got the various flora species packed into my bag and I begin the walk home.

My steps are light and springy and I hope to make good time. Sae agrees to give me scrap organ meat in exchange for extra game tomorrow. This can be made into a paste for Buttercup to eat. I'm sidetracked, however, when a gleaming object catches my eye at a vendor's booth in the square. Ordinarily I don't stop, but the glowing luster reels me in. It's the buckle of a small belt. No, not a belt. It's a fine black leather collar with a tiny bell on the ring. Tiny silver floral patterns are embroidered on the edges with minute detail. I want so badly to present this as a gift to Prim, it would make her so happy.

"What can I trade you for this?" I ask the old shopkeeper. She shakes her silvery gray haired head at me, "no trades." My game bag has few items in it: the healing plants, some rope, arrows, the meat and a spare handmade bow. "What about this?"

xxxxxxx

"Katniss-" Prim chokes out, "it's beautiful." She's holding the collar up to get a better look at it and smiling. This is the effect I wanted it to have. Her brilliant smile always brings joy to my heart, and I know I made the right choice trading my spare bow. My mother immediately grabs the herbs and begins mashing, boiling, stirring and sterilizing. She has a look of complete concentration I've never seen before. "You'll need to use some of your game in exchange for wormer, I suspect. Not much that I can do with plants for that," she says. Of course, I already know that. A man who sells livestock in town sells de- wormer, but it's not cheap. I will deal with this later. "I'm going to bed. Good night," I take one last look at Prim snuggling the kitten and smile.

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My mother and Prim work all night on making treatments for Buttercup. He gets better during the night after eating and drinking, but by morning he becomes lethargic and disoriented. It's a little after sunrise and I know that I need to sneak out to hunt so I don't encounter a weeping Prim. Usually I comfort her, and I want to hold her and stroke her soft hair until she drifts to sleep; this morning I just can't deal with it all and opt to leave. I pull on my black boots, braid my hair and grab my bag.

Prim's back is turned to me as she pets the kitten in its box. As I tiptoe out I catch my mother's eye at the stove. She nods and glances towards the door. She's still boiling sterile cotton and medicines and I feel better about leaving Prim. Once outside I begin down the dusty road towards the weak spot in the fence. Gail will help me hunt, and I can get the de- wormer for Buttercup with enough left over to feed us. Hopefully.

xxxxxxx

By late afternoon I'm heading home with the de- wormer, greens, and some squirrels. Luckily we found a patch of strawberries to sell the mayor. I finally reach my house and hurry inside, "Prim I've got de- wormer!" No response. Where are Prim and my mother? I fast walk to the back rooms and spot a mass under my mother's blankets. "Mom? Where's Prim?" No answer, just soft rustling. She's retreated back into her grief.

It only takes a few seconds to spot Prim in the yard. Her braids are a mess, her eyes puffy and red, and the coal dust on the delicate skin of her face is streaked with tears. "Prim? What's wrong?" I feel helpless watching her clutching the box tightly against her chest. Buttercup has certainly died. "When?"  
"About ten minutes ago."  
I hug her close and grab a rock to dig a grave. "I'll go to the meadow and get lots of bright buttercups to plant here. There's a soft scrap of fabric we can wrap him in and..." I trail off when I notice her sitting next to me. The box is on the ground between us and she is eerily quiet. The vacant, cloudy look in her eyes worries me. I place a hand on her shoulder, "Prim. I'm so sorry. Maybe we can think about getting you another kitten. Madge's neighbor has a litter of kittens she's giving away."

She turns to stare at me. Her blue eyes are locked on mine, "that's not entirely why I'm crying." This takes me by surprise. "It's... Not?"  
"I'm very sad about Buttercup, but that's not my biggest worry. It's about Mom. She's in her room again." I can see her internal struggle about holding her tongue, and after a moment of reserve she continues. "She's... She's not really sick is she?" The words come out in a stagger and I can see in her expression that she knows how delicate this conversation is. "She is," I say truthfully, "but not in the way I said she was. She's sick from sadness."

The pain of keeping things together for my little sister's sake has burdened me. Part of me feels as if I've taken her childhood away. She shouldn't have to worry or be sad, and she definitely shouldn't ever go hungry. I know in that moment that although Prim doesn't realize it the kitten's death has a more profound effect on her then it normally would have. She's becoming more aware of life's harder lessons and her innocence has been tarnished. "Will Mom ever get better, Katniss? Will she ever sew and laugh and play with me like she used to? Will things ever be the same? I miss Dad." The questions I've been dreading. This is not her hardship to struggle over and I am longing to make her carefree again. She is intuitive and wise beyond her years, but how can I answer this question?

"I don't know," I sigh, "But what I do know is that you will ALWAYS have me here to protect and care for you." Prim crashes into my arms in a sloppy embrace "I love you, Katniss." "And I love you, Prim," and I mean it with all my heart.  
"Meeeeewwww..." we hear after a few minutes. Prim wipes her eyes with her balled up fists and blinks. "Buttercup?!" The box is wiggling now. I can't believe it and neither can Prim. "Mew?" the kitten sounds as if it's asking a question and Prim immediately picks him up. He's still very weak, but he's alive. I regret ever trying to drown him now. "Come on. We've got work to do."

Back inside the house Prim and I spring to action. "Start boiling this scrap meat, okay? We'll make a mush and feed him. I'll be right back." My mother's room scares me now. When Prim and I were little and Dad was alive she begged me to play dress up with her and Mom. Sometimes I gave in. We would put on her fine clothes and hand crafted jewelry from her merchant days. We pretended we were rich. The older I got the less frequently I played in her clothing, but the memories are special to me all the same. In those days my mother and father made sure we were cared for and happy and our home was comforting. Now, as I'm standing in my mother's doorway I feel unwelcome and angry.

"Buttercup is alive. You should help Prim."  
No response. I hate walking farther into this room, but I sit on the edge of the bed on the blue quilt and lean over to her covered head. "You're disappointing Prim. You've got to get up. She needs you. She needs her mom." No response. I'm fuming. I feel guilty for wanting to grab her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. Then it hits me- she will never change her life of her own accord. It will take a life altering event to get her to step up, if she ever does. "I will never forgive you," I say, leaving the room and closing the door behind me.

xxxxxxx

Weeks pass and Buttercup begins improving. He's a clumsy at a clumsy age; not entirely kitten, but not yet adult. He does not care for me much since I tried to drown him, but he accepts my extra scraps from hunting. On the other hand he adores Prim. They have a special bond that nothing can break. He is her hunter and her protector, just like I am and in that common goal we forge a silent pact. Protect and love Prim. Something my mother will no longer do.

Buttercup is healthy and happy. My mother is not. And I know she never will be.


End file.
